Harry Sanchez and the Magic McGuffin
by Will Fagan
Summary: Thanks to the miracle of contrived plots, Harry Potter is adopted by Rick Sanchez. Harry and Morty are invited to Hogwarts, etc. Insert obligatory bad summary.
1. Chapter 1

***Author's Note* Listen, this is just a stupid story I'm writing because the idea entertains me. Having a Rick-raised Harry and Morty desecrating the glory of J.K. Rowling is pure crack. Don't come into this story expecting a proper explanation as to why Harry Potter was raised by the aforementioned mad scientist, because I'm not going to give you one. Just suspend your goddamn disbelief as I spin my tale. Morty is now 11, and kinda magical because why the hell not? It makes a good story.**

It was an overcast day when Albus Dumbledore apparated into the middle of the street. He glanced around curiously, taking in his surroundings. It was a perfectly average American suburb, and the house before him did nothing to dispel that notion. If it weren't for the strange vehicle sitting in the house's drive, it would arouse no curiosity from any passersby. Of course, most people in town knew of the eccentric scientist residing on the premises, and were familiar with the many unusual occurrences that transpired in that house, but Albus Dumbledore was entirely unaware of such gossip as he strode up the walk and pressed the doorbell.

A blonde-haired woman in a red blouse answered the door. Dumbledore smiled at her gently. "Good evening. Am I to believe that this is the home of Harry Sanchez and Mortimer Smith?"

The woman narrowed her eyes as the old wizard and turned around. "Dad!"

* * *

Dumbledore, having taken a seat in the living room, smiled at Beth as she handed him a cup of coffee. "Thank you, Mrs. Smith. Your father will be joining us shortly, I hope?"

"I hope so Mr. Dumbledore," Beth replied coolly, taking a seat across from Albus, next to her husband Jerry. "He took Morty and Harry with him on a quick trip. They should be back shortly." Also present was a younger girl, about 16 years of age, her orange hair done in a ponytail, enraptured by a small Muggle electronic device.

"So, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, what, may I ask, are your professions?"

"I'm a horse doctor," Beth replied politely. "Jerry's unemployed."

"I'm currently in between jobs," Jerry said.

"You're unemployed, Jerry," Beth corrected her husband sharply, "Don't beat around the bush."

The girl, who Albus assumed another of Beth and Jerry's children paused from fiddling on her phone and looked up at the wizard with mild disdain. "So you're one of Grandpa Rick's friends?"

"Alas, I have not had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Sanchez."

"Consider yourself lucky," Jerry muttered. Beth elbowed him sharply. "Ow! Sorry. Fact of the matter is, Rick is not the most pleasant guy around."

"What about you son and Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, Morty is a fine kid, just a little scatterbrained," Beth replied. "Harry tends to take after Rick in some ways. He's not quite as… direct as my father, but he's almost as clever as him."

Dumbledore nodded and sipped his coffee slowly. He gave a slight grimace at the taste. "Could use some sugar," he said. Before Beth could stand up to go to the kitchen, he pulled out his wand and waved it at the coffee table. A small pot of sugar appeared, complete with a small spoon. Ignorant of the shocked faces of the Smith family, he added a generous amount of sugar to his cup and stirred it gently before banishing the pot and spoon together. Taking another sip, he smiled. "Lovely."

At that moment, a strange green portal opened up in the center of the room, and a tall, white-haired man in a lab coat emerged. "We're back, bitches!" Rick shouted as he strolled into the room. "Sorry we're late, Morty got infected with an alien bacteria, so Harry and I had to shrink down to microscopic size and go into him." Two more individuals emerged from the portal before it closed up: the first boy had brown hair and a perpetually nervous expression. The other was a shorter, raven-haired boy with glasses and a strange scar on his forehead. "Long story short, it was gross." It was then that Rick noticed Dumbledore. "Who's this clown?" he asked bluntly. Small specks of spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. He strode over to Dumbledore and glared at him before turning to look at the rest of the family. "What's with the faces. Did someone rip ass in here?"

"Grandpa, the man just did magic," Summer said, pointing to the robed man.

"Bullshit, Summer. There's no such thing as magic."

"He made a pot of sugar appear and vanish from the table," Jerry said, pointing at the barren coffee table.

"Big deal," Rick pulled out a small device and, with a press of the button, summoned a small flask from thin air. "How's that for magic? Summoning things is easy if you have a matter materializer. Nothing but science."

"Richard Sanchez, I presume?" Dumbledore asked, standing up and holding out his hand.

"Rick, asshat," Rick replied, ignoring the outstretched hand.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore. Pleased to make your acquaintance. And this must be Mortimer and Harry," he said, turning to look at the two boys. "Nice to meet you both, although I admit, I knew Harry when he was but a child."

Rick ignored the man and walked over to the couch. "Whatever. Let's cut the crap, Bumblebore. What do you want?" he asked, uncapping his flask and emptying it down his throat.

Dumbledore smiled serenely and retook his seat. "I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Magic?" Morty asked, eyes widening.

" _Hogwarts_?" Rick laughed, then belched loudly. "What kind of shit name is that? Why didn't you just call it Pigdicks or Horse Smegma? Also, correct me if I'm wrong, and I'm not, but aren't witchcraft and wizardry basically synonymous with one another?"

"They are synonymous, last I checked," Harry answered with a smirk.

Dumbledore willfully ignored the two and continued. "As I was saying, I have come to invite Mr. Mortimer and Harry to attend Hogwarts, where they'll learn the wonders of magic."

"So, what? I'll learn to cut girls in half and pull rabbits out of hats?" Harry asked sarcastically. "Doesn't sound very interesting."

Rick nodded in agreement with his son. "Magic is just slight of hand and tricks. It doesn't exist, at least not to my knowledge."

Jerry smiled smugly. "Wow, Rick, for a man who knows everything, you're being very obstinate."

"Fuck off, Jerry. Newsflash: I DO know everything. You don't even know what obstinate means, so zip it. Anyway, unless this guy has any concrete proof magic exists, I'd like to show him the door."

At this, Dumbledore stood up and, producing his wand, proceeded to enchant the coffee table to dance around the room. After a few minutes, he dispelled the enchantment, and looked over at Rick with a smile. "Convinced?"

Rick stood still for a moment, staring at the robed man with an expression halfway between hatred and curiosity. Then he shrugged. "Ok, congrats. You can fiddle with matter on a molecular level. I wouldn't call that *cough*magic, but whatever, potato-potahtoe."

"So you think Morty and Harry are cut out for this school of yours?" Beth asked, steering the conversation back on track.

"I presume that young Mortimer is capable," Dumbledore replied, finishing his coffee. "He wouldn't have appeared on our school's attendance list if he was a Muggle."

"Muggle?" Jerry interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Non-magical," Dumbledore explained patiently. "As for Harry, his parents were both great wizards in their own rights. Which brings me to the question of why he is residing with you, Mr. Sanchez, and not his relatives."

Harry smacked his head in frustration. "Shit."

"Rick, what's he talking about?" Beth asked.

Rick rolled his eyes. "Dammit. Ok, confession time, Harry's not actually my son. I sorta adopted him."

"I believe the correct term would be 'abducted'," Dumbledore said.

"You kidnapped Harry?" Beth ask angrily.

"Uh, gee, Rick, that's a pretty awful thing to do," Morty added. "I mean, that's, that's morally reprehensible."

"Morals are for people who give a fuck, Morty," Rick replied.

Harry, who had remained quiet until now, spoke up. "I went with him voluntarily, Morty."

"I'd still like to know how you came to be in Mr. Sanchez's care," Dumbledore said, eyeing Harry with curiosity.

"Fine, whatever. Listen, I'm not going to go into details as to it all went down, because the whole story makes little sense and contains too many *ughhh* plotholes to count. All you need to know is that his so-called 'parents' were so-called 'assholes'. I mean, they made him sleep in a broom closet under the stairs. I'm surprised Child Services hadn't beaten me to the punch."

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were not his parents, Mr. Sanchez," Dumbledore said. "They were his Aunt and Uncle. I sent Harry Potter, as the Wizarding World know him as, to be raised by the Dursleys after his parents were killed."

"Killed?" Beth asked, raising a hand to her mouth.

"Indeed, by a dark wizard."

"Dark wizard?" Rick shook his head. "What is this, Lord of the Rings?"

Harry, however, was intrigued. "Tell me more about this dark wizard, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded. "His name, which many are still afraid to speak, is Voldemort…"

* * *

"So long, safe travels, thanks for coming, don't come back," Rick said, slamming the front door behind the Hogwarts headmaster with a resounding bang. "Well, that was a stupid waste of time," he said, rejoining the family in the living room. "Who wants to watch TV? I think _Ball Fondlers_ is on right now."

"Rick, can we please talk about what just happened?" Jerry asked impatiently.

"What's there to talk about? Harry and Morty are invited to go to some bullshit magic school? Not worth my time in discussing," Rick said, flicking on the TV.

"Can we go?" Morty asked, excitedly.

"You can't be serious?" Rick snapped, glancing over at his son and grandson. "Didn't you hear what that old fruit said? Fucking dark wizards and Harry as some sort of living legend? It sounds like some stupid *hack* young adult novel."

"I'd normally agree," Harry said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Still, I am somewhat intrigued."

"Great, I expected this from Morty, but not from you. You can't seriously be considering attending that ridiculous school?"

"The idea of magic is pretty intriguing. I mean, think about it, Rick," Harry said, his mind racing. "If magic does exist, then there could be a way to manipulate it for our own personal gain. Imagine using such power in tandem with your inventions. The scientific applications are almost unfathomable, certainly profitable, to say the least."

Rick eyed his adopted son with sudden interest. "I'll admit, you do have a good a*arrrgh*ument."

"Dad," Harry said, using the paternal term he'd long abandoned, "this is a one-of-a-kind opportunity. We can't pass up on this." Rick let out a groan and stood up. "Ok, you had me at _profitable._ You can go to that stupid school." Harry pumped his fists as Rick stood and left the room, mumbling something about wizards and bullshit.

"The things you do for family," he muttered as he went into his workshop and slammed the door shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own any of these characters. Really shouldn't have to say that. Can't imagine J.K. cruising fanfiction on a regular basis.**

* * *

A tear in the dimensional fabric of the universe manifested itself in front of a small, run-down pub on a London city street. Three figures appeared, stepping through the green void and onto the pavement. Several passersby stopped and stared in shock  
/as the wormhole shrunk and vanished.

"Wow, Rick, I've never been to England before," Morty said, watching in awe as a red double-decker bus rounded the corner and stopped to pick up passengers.

"Yeah, well, it's no*ought* really that impressive when you've seen countless planets and alternate dimensions," Rick replied, swigging from a flask he kept in his lab coat pocket. "How are you, Harry? Happy to be back?"

"Not particularly," the black-haired boy replied, glancing around nervously. Although he knew the likelihood of bumping into his aunt and uncle while here were slim, he couldn't help but feel paranoid. He turned and looked up at the sign of the bar they  
/had portaled to. " _The Leaky Cauldron_?" He read, raising an eyebrow.

"Is this where we're supposed to go?" Morty asked.

Rick shrugged. "Dumbledick said that was where this so called Dragon Alley was located."

"It's _Diagon_ Alley, Rick," Harry corrected.

Morty chuckled, "Wow, really? That's kinda funny, like a play on words, you know?"

Rick groaned. "Yeah, Morty, clearly we're dealing with some urbane wits here."

They pushed open the door and entered the musty pub. Inside a variety of eccentrically dressed characters too unimportant to the main story to be described more thoroughly sat at tables and stools, drinking tankards of grog or whatever the fuck it wasthey  
served. Rick walked up to the barman and whistled. "Give me a whiskey."

"We've only got firewhiskey," the barkeep, whose nametag said 'Tom', replied, dropping a scuzzy dishrag onto the countertop.

"Whatever, one of those."

Tom took out a glass and filled it halfway with liquid from a red bottle marked 'flammable'. Rick grabbed it and downed it in a flash. He smacked his lips and shrugged. "Not bad," he replied, before burping a fireball across the room. "Smokey."

"Are the boys yours?" Tom asked, motioning to Morty and Harry.

"From a familial stance," Rick replied. "They're not my slaves or anything."

"I didn't say they were."

"Then you should have chosen your words better," Rick said. He turned to the two young boys and waved a hand. "Harry, take Morty and go find this Alley place, buy your supplies, I'll see you in a bit. Yo, Barkeep! Which of those bottles behind you can  
/get me fucked up the quickest?"

Harry shrugged and followed the barman's finger towards a door in the corner of the bar. Along the way, a small turbaned man stood up and walked over to them. "H-h-h-hogwarts students by any ch-ch-chance?"

"Notinterested, stutter-muffin," Harry said, brushing past the stunned wizard and through the door.

* * *

They found themselves in a small alley, enclosed at one end by a high brick wall. "Wow, color me impressed," Harry said, glancing around. He walked to the wall and examined it closely. "Seems to be solid."

"Maybe there's a trick to get it open?" Morty suggested.

Harry noted that one of the bricks had several nicks on its surface, as though it had been struck many times by a small wooden object. He gently gave it a knock with his knuckle. Almost immediately, the bricks began to fold in on one another, creating  
/an archway.

Before them was a long cobblestoned street, lined with old brick and half-timbered buildings, their ground level shops bustling with men, women and children in long cloaks.

"Great, we've got a real Dark Age vibe going on," Harry said, watching as a man walked past pulling a small wagon full of garbage. "I really hope they've heard of indoor plumbing."

They walked down the street, Morty occasionally stopping to peer in store windows excitedly. They lingered for a while outside a toy shop, Morty staring in wonder at a broomstick ("Wow, way to adhere to stereotype," Harry muttered), and Harry observing  
/the numerous contraptions and mechanical toys that seemed to never need winding.

"How can they do that?" Harry asked, pointing to a tin bird that flew lazily in a cage, no strings or wires attached.

"Magic, I guess," Morty said.

"But how? It's defying the laws of physics!"

Morty shrugged, "Rick defies the laws of physics every other day."

"But at least then there's some sort of convoluted explanation as to how he does it. This just breaks the rules without apologizing for it."

They walked on. In Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, Harry seemed to perk up, chemistry being a strong suit of his. After filling up several bags worth of ingredients, he was stymied at the cashier counter.

"What's this?" The cashier asked, holding up a British pound note.

"Money," Harry explained patiently, "People exchange it for goods and services, last I checked."

"We only take Galleons, Sickles and Knuts," the shopkeeper replied apologetically.

"Okayy," Harry replied, "And where do I go to exchange this?"

"Gringotts."

Exasperated, Harry and Morty left the shop. They soon found Gringotts, as it was hard to miss. An imposing, snow-white building of classical design, it towered over the rest of the street.

"Whoever built this was compensating for something," Harry muttered.

His musing proved correct as they stepped inside. Morty's eyes boggled in surprise as a hideous little creature walked past them. Harry, unperturbed, approached the teller's booth and slammed a handful of pounds in front of the bemused Goblin.

"I'd like to convert this money into whatever it is you call currency here."

The goblin examined the greenbacks nonchalantly, tabulating the transfer rate in his head. "Yes, Mr…"

"Sanchez, nee Potter."

The goblin gave a squeak of surprise and asked for a moment to consult his supervisor. Harry turned to Morty. "So, are they supposed to be Jews?"

"What?" Morty replied, stuttering. "Jeez, Harry, I don't think you can generalize a whole race like that."

"That's not what I'm saying," Harry replied shortly, "I mean, look at them, they're short, long-nosed, love money, and seem to control the country's distribution of wealth. It seems like a really offensive characterization to me."

"Gee, Harry, I don't think you should read into it too much. I don't think there's an Anti-Semitic message being conveyed in this instance. It all seems circumstantial."

"I guess, over-analysis can sometimes lead to dark territory. That's like studying a children's book series and interpreting it as a work of Satanist propaganda."

Morty laughed. "Yeah, who'd be stupid enough to do that?"

"Christian stay-at-home moms."

They were interrupted by the appearance of the (and definitely not Anti-Semitic) goblin bank teller and his manager, whose gold-plated name tag read 'Griphook'. "Mr. Potter?" Griphook asked, leaning in to glance at the boy's scar. "I oversee your family'saccount.  
If you are interested, I'd like to go over the contents of your trust fund with you."

Harry was interested. "A trust fund? Are we talking rich white kid summering in Cape Cod trust fund?"

The goblin smiled. "All that, with interest."

* * *

"Check me out, I'm Scrooge McDuck!" Harry shouted as he dove into a pile of galleons with childish glee.

Griphook sighed and glanced over at Morty. "You won't believe how often I have to hear that."


	3. Chapter 3

"Hogwarts Express departing in ten minutes!" a conductor shouted through a cloud of smoke from the scarlet red engine behind him.

"You heard Mr. Plot Progression," Rick slurred, gesturing to the carriages. "Better hop on."

"Aw, Rick, are you sure you won't miss us or anything?" Morty asked.

"What, you think I'll m-m-miss you?" Rick replied, looking offended. "I've got enough problems for emotional longing."

Beth leaned down and patted Morty's head. "He'll miss you, Morty."

"No, I w*ough*n't,"

"Rick, shut up," Jerry replied.

"Blow me."

"C'mon, can't we at least pretend to be a normal family?" Harry asked, rubbing his forehead to fight off an oncoming migraine.

"Last I checked, Harry, we're on a magical hidden train platform surrounded by men and women in cloaks waving pointed sticks. Trust me, we're the fucking epitome of normal."

At that moment, a young blonde boy walked past, followed by a small, wire-thin creature dragging a heavy chest. "Dobby!" the boy snarled, turning on his Italian leather heel. "If you don't pick up the pace, I'll have Father staple your ears to the ceiling," he paused, "again."

"Yes, Master Draco sir." the little creature replied miserably.

"What the f*uuu*ck is that?" Rick asked, pointing at the imp.

The boy scoffed. "You've never seen a house elf before? You must be a Mudblood."

"Out of curiosity, I'm going to ignore the obvious racial slur. So, he's a slave or something?" Harry asked.

"He's a servant."

"An unpaid servant."

"...Yes."

"One of those slaves could come in handy for lugging your luggage, Harry," Summer said, gesturing to the mound of trunks and crates that trailed the Sanchez family. "How did you even afford all that stuff?"

"Unexpected family inheritance," Harry replied, smiling smugly.

"Fortunately, we don't need to resort to forced servitude, Summer," Rick replied, pulling out a small box. "Not when we have genetically-manufactured servitude." He pressed the button three times.

In a puff of smoke, three blue-skinned, orange-haired creatures manifested themselves. "Hi, we're Mr. Meeseeks!" The lead one shouted in a voice that definitely does not get grating over a sustained period.

"Put Harry and Morty's shit on the train," Rick said, pointing to the luggage."

"Ooooooh, can do!"

"What in Merlin are those?" Draco asked, looking unsettled.

"Science, you albino privileged fuck," Rick replied. "Who's the smug shit now?"

The albino snarled and departed in a huff, dragging the little house elf by the collar of his pillowcase. "Gee, that kid sure seemed unpleasant," Morty said.

"Yeah, hope he doesn't become the bane of my existence for the next seven books," Harry concurred.

"Alright, the foreshadowing is over, get on the fucking train," Rick interrupted, all but manhandling the two kids onto the train. "So long, sayonara, don't write, I won't reply!"

"Make friends, be normal, don't get killed!" Beth added, waving as the train chugged out of the station.

"Now what?" Summer asked.

Rick grabbed his granddaughter by the shoulder and drew her close. "Now it's Rick and Summer! Summer and Rick! Seven seasons of Rick and Summer! A hundred years of Rick and Summer! We'll have all the adventures Morty and I would've had, except they'll be unique, because you're a more unique, mature character, with previously unseen hidden depths and talents! It'll be gr*aaau*nd! Rick and Summer forever! A thousand-year Rick and Summer Reich…"

* * *

"We'd better find a compartment," Morty said, following Harry down the corridor."

"Do you have to voice all of our actions and motivations?" Harry replied.

"Uhhh, well…"

"Don't answer that; I don't want you to get a nosebleed."

Morty pulled open the next compartment door. "Hey, are these seats available?"

"Uh, yes," the young ginger replied, glancing up from a diseased-looking rat."

"Harry, do you want to pick this one?"

"Eh," Harry replied.

The two Americans settled in the seats across from the kid. The ginger held out his hand. "My name's Ronald Weasley."

"Oh, god," Harry muttered. His nephew elbowed him in the side. "Oh, right, act normal. Hi, new character, I'm Harry Sanchez, and this is my nephew, Morty Smith. Pleased to meet you, or some shit like that." He turned to Morty. "Can I read now?"

"Fine," Morty said. He turned to Ronald. "Sorry about Harry, he's… abrasive."

"What does 'abrasive' mean?" Ronald asked.

Harry groaned. "Jesus Christ, these next seven years are gonna suck."

"It means he's a bit of a piece of shit," Morty said, giving Ronald and apologetic smile.

"Oh, uhhh, ok. So, are you two Muggleborns? You sound American."

"Yep, my parents are Muggleborn. Harry's adopted dad (my grandpa Rick) is a scientist, but his real parents were wizards apparently."

"If you blow my cover I will fucking kill you," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Their names were Potter, have you heard of them?" Morty asked, simultaneously dodging a hurled copy of _Advanced Necromancy_.

"Blimey! You're Harry Potter!"

"God fucking dammit."

"Harry, you heard what mom said," Morty replied, smiling deviously. "Make friends."

"Friends are for heroic protagonists, and I will not succumb to that trope."

At that moment, Morty felt something brush against his leg. Glancing down, he grimaced. "Gross, there's a fucking toad in here!" He picked up the creature, and before anyone could intervene, opened the window and hurled the creature out. "There. I don't even want to know when was the last time someone cleaned this carriage."

The compartment door slid open, and a bushy-haired girl stuck her head in. "Has anyone seen Neville's toad?"

The three boys stared at her, open-mouthed. Finally, Harry fell off the chair, laughing like a child (which may seem like an odd metaphor, as Harry is technically a child, but you know what I mean). After a moment, the other two boys joined in. The girl huffed and slammed the door shut.

"Hah! It's funny because we killed a child's pet!" Ronald said.

Harry glanced up from the floor at the ginger. "Ok, you're alright in my book."

* * *

 **Wub-a-lub-a-dub-dub, my worthless peons! Hope you enjoy the new chapter! Guess you thought I was dead. Only inside! HAHA. Stay tuned, the next chapter will be coming soon! Or in like, six months, I dunno. Fuck you, I gotta live my own life, on my terms. Please fave and follow.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said, appraising the new first years gathered around her before the door to the Great Hall. "In a moment, you will all be sorted into your houses. These houses will be like a family away from home for you."

"So, psychologically toxic and perpetually on the verge of divorce?" Harry asked, a little too loudly.

"Ummm, if you'd like, yes."

"Guess I won't be getting homesick."

"Trevor!" A chubby boy shouted, running forward to grab the animal at McGonagall's feet.

"Hey look, didn't we throw that toad out the window of the train?" Morty asked. Harry quickly elbowed him in the side. "Ow, okay, jeez, sorry I said anything."

Suddenly, ghosts. "Ooo, Ickle firsties, what fun for jolly old Peeves!"

"It's a Class 6 Poltergeist!" Morty shouted.

"Take aim!" Harry raised the barrel of his portable proton pack and pushed the button.

Two strings of light caught Peeves around the middle. "Whoah, okay, time out, what's happening!" the poltergeist asked.

"Don't cross the streams!" Morty said.

"I've done this before, jackass!"

As the first years watched, the poltergeist was dragged screaming into one of the packs. Harry popped the case open and pulled out a small container. "Whatever you do, do not let him out," he said, handing it to McGonagall. "I do NOT want to have to deal with that trivial bullshit for the next seven years."

McGonagall stared in utter confusion at Harry and Morty before regaining her composure. "If you're all quite finished, then follow me."

"Hey, Harry, I have a question," Morty asked as the first years entered the Great Hall. "If we live in America, why are we going to a school in England? I mean, isn't there, like, an American school of magic or something."

"Huh, Morty, that's a really thought-provoking question," Harry conceded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He then bitch-slapped Morty so hard it reset the boy's brain. "What did Rick tell you about overthinking, Morty?"

"But, how, though?" Ron asked, having been within earshot. Harry raised his hand. "You know what, forget I asked."

"That's what I thought."

The Great Hall, to use a cliche, was breathtaking. In fact, two of the first years stopped breathing and fell to the marble floor gasping like landed fish. They were quickly dragged out of the room by school house elves.

"Wow, look, Harry, you can see the stars through the ceiling!"

"Hogwarts: A History says it's an enchantment added during the tenure of Headmaster Vassago in 1666," Hermione explained.

"It's just effects added in post, Morty. Stop acting like a fucking tourist."

Despite Harry's best interests, Hermione had joined them in the compartment, having failed to locate the Toad he thought he'd murdered. Harry read her in an instant. Only child, a know-it-all. Trouble was, she knew everything from books, which just made her a parrot of someone else's voice. Harry may have been a know-it-all as well, but he learned everything from experience, legit as fuuuuuck.

* * *

Harry had waited impatiently through the roll call of forgettable names. He dimly registered that Hermione had ended up in Gryffindor, while the little albino snot Malfoy had been put in Slytherin.

"What house do you wanna be in, Harry?" Morty whispered.

"The house system is meaningless, designed to ferment competitive rivalry between the students," Harry whispered back. "I'm above that, and you should be too."

"My family's always been in Gryffindor," Ron whispered.

"Congratu-fucking-lations."

"Potter, Harry."

The hall fell silent, all eyes turning towards the dwindling group of first years. It took Harry a few moments to realize they'd meant him. He stormed up the aisle and plopped onto the stool. "Sanchez, lady," he muttered to McGonagall, eyes flashing daggers.

 _Well, well, what have we here. Quite the interesting child._

 ** _You're in my mind. How are you doing that, and don't say magic or I'll put you through a paper shredder._**

 _Plenty of ambition, plenty of cunning. You feel you're above all the rest. Slytherin would do you quite well._

 ** _Fine, then, Slytherin. Doesn't matter to me in any way._**

 _Such surety in your powers, maybe Gryffindor._

 ** _Whatever._**

 _Look, kid,_ the Hat finally said, breaking the enigmatic bullshit, _you've got to give me some cooperation, here._

 ** _This entire thing is meaningless. It's like the Briggs-Myers personality test. You're just making these kids read into their personalities, sorting through the contradictions to reach their imagined or idealized selves. Sure, I'm cunning and ambitious. I'm also foolhardy and cocksure, hardworking, and book-smart. I could honestly go in any one of these four houses, so I honestly have no fucking opinion whatsoever on which stupid color I wear on my tie._**

 _You're an obnoxious little bastard, aren't you?_

 ** _Damn skippy._**

 _Alright, fuck it,_ BETTER BE GRYFFINDOR!

The hall broke into cheers as Harry stood up and tossed the hat away like a frisbee, walking over to the Gryffindor table with a face like a sour grape.

"WE GOT POTTER!" Two annoying twin redheads were shouting. Weasleys, Harry guessed.

He sat quietly, picking at a stain on his sleeve, until his nephew's name came up.

"Smith, Mortimer."

Morty walked down the aisle, tripping and knocking over the stool to the laughter of the assembles students (as well as some of the more mean-spirited professors). The hat fell onto his head. "GRYFFINDOR!" It shouted within milliseconds.

"Huh, had you pegged for a Hufflepuff," Harry said as Morty joined him at the lion's table.

"Well, I told the hat I wanted to be with you, Ron and Hermione," Morty replied.

"Jesus Christ, Morty, have an independent thought for once."

A few minutes later, the sorting was complete. Dumbledore stood up, looking like a complete fucking idiot, in Harry's opinion. _"Welcome, first years, to Hogwarts! May you all collect memories to cherish throughout your lives."_

"Hey, look, that weird guy from the Leakey Cauldron is our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Morty said, gesturing to the turbaned man.

"Great, now I'll have to listen to two annoying stutterers," Harry replied with fake enthusiasm. He did look up, however, catching a glimpse of the oily-haired professor beside Quirrell. "Ow," he said, putting a hand to his scar.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked.

"Nothing, my scar just hurt as I was looking at Mr. Head-and-Shoulders over there."

"Do you think it has anything to do with You-Know-Who?"

"Yes? No? Who gives a fuck?" Harry replied, exasperated. "Not everything has a concrete, mystical explanation, Ron."

"In magic, it usually does," Ron's brother Fred/George said.

"Well, it doesn't." Harry turned his full attention to the food on his plate. "It was a quick pain, nothing more. Simple explanation, no need to investigate."

 _"And finally, all students should avoid the third-floor corridor, unless they want to meet a very nasty death."_

Harry dropped his fork and turned to look at the Headmaster. The old man met his gaze and winked. "That, however, was meaningful as fuck."

 **Look, I'm on a roll here, but this is first draft, last draft, out the door, so if you find any fault with this chapter, message me, and I'll consider it. I probably won't, because who are you to tell me how to write? Fuck you, I'm an adult.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Decided to flesh out Chapter 5 a little, so I'mreuploading it. Thank you all for the favs and great I'll keep to more of a conventional posting schedule from here on out.**

* * *

"Welcome, students," Greasy-Grimy Gopher Guts (or Snape, as he was respectfully referred to by students other than Harry Sanchez) stood before the gathered first years. "Here you will be learning the art of potion making. It is an exacting science, requiring mastery, lest we have any unfortunate…" he glanced over at Longbottom. "Accidents."

"Science, huh?" Harry whispered to Ron and Morty. "Looks like this class won't be complete trash."

"Potter!" The potions master barked. Harry glanced over. "What would you get if you added powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"You get the Draught of Living Death," Potter replied.

"Wrong. You get the Draught of Living Death."

"That's what I said."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for talking without permission. Where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?"

"A goat's stomach."

"Ten points for talking without permission."

"You literally asked me a question."

"Ten more points. The answer was a goat's stomach. Looks like our resident celebrity isn't as clever as he thinks."

"Motherfucker," Harry whispered.

"I wish," Snape whispered back.

"What?"

"Last question: what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Nothing, they're the same plant."

"Wrong, they're spelt differently. Ten points from Gryffindor." He turned to the students. "Why aren't you all writing this down?"

Harry watched through thin slit eyes as the professor made his way to the front of the classroom again. "Okay, I take back what I said, this class is going to blow."

"Don't antagonize him, Harry," Morty whispered.

"I did nothing to antagonize him. Those were the right answers. I read all the textbooks up to seventh year. He's just a dick."

"Potter! Ten points for being alive in my general presence."

"Eat my ass!"

"Ten points for… that."

"Good morning, Severus," Heads turned in unison; no one had heard the headmaster enter the room. "How goes the first year class?"

"They're all incompetent, as usual."

"I see," Dumbledore caught sight of Harry. "Mr. Potter."

"Sanchez."

"Sanchez-Potter."

"Eh, good enough."

"What a nicely arranged necktie you are wearing this morning."

Harry glanced down at his chest. "I'm not wearing a necktie."

"One hundred points to Gryffindor for good presentation." Dumbledore smiled benevolently at Snape before twirling out the door. Snape spent several minutes grinding his teeth loudly. The class waited respectfully. "The instructions for the first potion are on the board. You have one hour. I'll be in my office, drinking."

* * *

"What an asshat," Harry muttered as he stormed out of the Potions classroom. Morty, Ron and Hermione followed close on his heels. "You swear, it was like my dad used to beat him up or something."

"You shouldn't have been pushing him, Harry," Hermione said.

Ron scoffed. "Lay off him, Granger, no one deserves that level of hatred."

"At least we have Defense Against the Dark Arts next," Morty said, checking his schedule. "Should be fun. Fighting dragons and stuff,y'know, cool."

* * *

"G-g-g-g-g-g-good a-a-a-aftern-n-n-noon, c-c-c-c-class, and w-w-w-w-w-w-w-welcome to D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-"

"Fuck this," Harry stood up and gathered his books. "I'm not listening to this broken record for an hour and a half."

"Where are you going? You can't skip class!"

"I'm Harry-fucking-Potter. Watch me."

The entire class watched as Harry strolled down the rows to the front of the class, pausing in front of Quirrell. "Stop staring at me, you're giving me a headache."

The classroom door slammed shut. There was a moment's silence. Then, every student stood up and stampeded after him, leaving Quirrell alone in an empty classroom.

"Fu-fu-fu-fu-fu-fu-"

" _Stop overdoing it!_ " Quirrell's turban hissed.

"Yes, my Lord."

* * *

They found Harry on the third floor. "What on Earth are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"I'm investigating," Harry said, staring at a large, thick wooden door.

"Dumbledore told us the third floor corridor was off limits!" Morty said, glancing around, as though the kooky headmaster were watching them.

"He did, so obviously I need to find out what's behind this door," Harry replied, knocking on it experimentally. He put his ear to the wood. A low hum could be heard through the door. "It sounds like some sort of engine."

"But technology doesn't work in Hogwarts!" Hermione said.

"Then people haven't been trying hard enough," Harry said, pulling out a small device and scanning the door with it. He glanced down at the readout. "Hm… oak, with traces of… saliva?"

"Harry, you're going to get us in trouble!" Morty said, shaking.

"Morty, in case you haven't noticed, I'm basically a God here." He tried the knob. "It's unlocked."

"Why would Dumbledore tell students not to investigate a door and not even bother to lock it?" Ronald asked.

"Because he wanted us to open it."

"This is dangerous, Harry," Ron said. "People could get hurt."

"No one's going to get hurt." Harry replied, throwing the door open wide.

The first thing he noticed was a chain. It was as thick as his arm, and trailed across the corridor floor for several feet before ending with a leather collar the size of a truck tire. Said collar was around the neck of a dog, roughly the size of an elephant. The dog had been snoring up until Harry had opened the door. It opened its eyes and locked on the surprised first year. Two more pairs of eyes opened as well. A loud chorus of growls made Harry's hair stand on end.

"People might get hurt," Harry muttered.

* * *

They didn't stop running until they reached the Gryffindor common room. "Password?" The Fat Lady asked.

 ** _"Open the fucking door, you goddamn Rubens knockoff!"_** Harry screamed.

"Can't let you in without a password."

 _ **"Bitch, I have a pocket knife, and I know how to use it!"**_

A second later, the portrait swung open. Four Gryffindors tumbled through the secret opening, the girl in the rear slamming the painting shut.

"What the fuck was that thing?" Harry asked, pushing himself out from the bottom of the dogpile and dusting himself off.

"It was a Cerberus," Hermione replied. "A young one."

"You mean they get bigger?" Morty was shaking. Harry slapped him hard across the face.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, shocked by the display of violence.

"He's had worse," Harry replied. He grabbed Morty by the shoulders. "You good?" Morty nodded. "You want some OJ?" Morty nodded again. "Ok, let's get you some OJ."

* * *

"Why would Dumbledore put a Cerberus in a children's school?" Ron asked, swirling his straw around his empty glass.

"Either he's fucking crazy or he's fucking metal as fuck," Morty replied. "Possibly both."

"Didn't you two see it?" Harry and Hermione said in unison. They glanced at one another surprised.

"Sorry, you go," Harry said.

"No, you can go first."

"No, I insist."

"Well, thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"Stop being nice and tell us what we missed!" Morty shouted.

"You saw the three-headed dog, but you didn't see what he was sitting on," Hermione said.

"What, a dog bed?"

"His balls?"

"A trap door."

* * *

"Why are we going to see the giant?" Harry asked.

"Because Dumbledore said Hagrid was a good guy," Morty replied.

"Dumbledore keeps a cerberus behind an unlocked door and has a bastard teaching Potions. I think I have reason to doubt his judgement," Harry replied.

Morty hushed him, then knocked on the door of the Groundskeeper's Hut.

A few minutes later, Harry was seated in an oversized armchair, staring down at a plate of what could only be described as baked rocks, and holding an over-sweetened tea in a gallon-sized mug. "Gee, thanks, Hagrid."

"No problem, Harry," Hagrid replied, sitting down across from the two first years. "I knew yer parents, y'know. They were first years the year I got this job."

"What were Harry's parents like?" Morty asked.

"Here we go," Harry muttered.

"Well, yer mum was quite the smart witch. Quite the cracker, if I may say so myself."

"Gross."

"And yer dad, he was Cap'n of the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"Quidditch?" Harry asked.

"Er, the most popular wizard sport. I take it you've never played."

"I don't do sports," Harry said, crossing his arms. "They promote competitiveness, and instill in inferior minds an unhealthy aggression."

"I bet you'd be a good Seeker. Small and quick."

"Not interested. Sports is about showing off. Last I checked, I get enough attention when I break wind."

"Err, well, give it a thought."

"Whatever."

* * *

"Today I will be teaching you the basics of flying a broomstick," Madam Hooch said to the assembled first year Gryffindors and Slytherins. "This… is my BROOM-stick." She shouted, startling the students.

"Hah! I got that reference!" Harry said from the back of the crowd.

"Ten points to Gryffindor for good taste in Muggle entertainment," Hooch said. "Now, I'd like you all to try and mount your broomsticks. Simply hold your hand over the broomstick and say 'Up'."

The students did as asked. Except for Harry, who merely picked up the broomstick. "Potter, you didn't do as I said," Hooch replied.

"Why waste my magical imagery on a neat trick?" Harry asked.

"...Because it looks cool?"

"Does it, or does it look as though wizards are so lazy and accustomed to using magic to get whatever they want that they can't do anything as simple as picking up a fucking stick without a spell?"

Hooch would have argued, but fortunately for her and Harry, she was distracted by Longbottom taking off prematurely and breaking his wrist. "Someone take him to the Hospital Wing," she said.

"Why don't you hold your hand over his wrist and say 'Heal'?"

"Not now, Potter."

"Sanchez."

"ARRRRGH!"

As she left, Malfoy picked some object up from the ground. "Look, it's Longbottom's Remembrall! I've got dibs!"

Harry stepped forwards. "Give it here, Malfoy."

Draco scoffed. "As if. Brave Potter, defending the worthless."

"I'm not defending Longbottom," Harry said. "I overheard the password Longbottom uses to access it. If you give it here, I can find out where he keeps his chocolate stash. We can split it, fifty-fifty."

"Harry!" Hermione hissed.

"What? I'll give you some."

At that moment McGonagall stuck her head out of her office window. "Potter! What are you doing on that broom?" Harry pretended not to hear her. "Fine, Sanchez! What are you doing on that broom?"

"Nothing, professor," Harry called back.

"Well, you look like quite the natural on it."

"But I haven't even flown yet."

"Meet me by the Quidditch pitch tonight after dinner. You're Gryffindor's newest Seeker."

"Do I have a choice?" Harry asked, sighing.

"If you don't, you'll have to spend the evening serving detention with Snape."

"But I didn't do anything to Snape!"

"According to him, you continually disrupted the class by existing."

"FUUUUCK!"

"See you at eight, then."


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey, look, another chapter. Have you had time to digest the last one? Tough tits if you haven't! I'm on a roll, don't stifle my creativity just because you have no time to read. Maybe cut down on your TV time, or shave a half-hour from you whack-off schedule. I mean, what you do with your time is your business, but your parents know you're masturbating, and they're concerned. Seriously, like, once a day, tops. Take a breather, rehydrate, and enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Beth was considering how to open the front door with her hands full of bagged groceries when someone opened it for her. "Harry! Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"It's the weekend."

"You came all the way from Scotland."

"It was a slow weekend."

Beth came in and set the groceries on the table. "So, how was your first week?"

"My chemistry teacher hates me, I was shanghaied into playing sports, some albino daddy's boy keeps trying to be my friend, and there's a mythical beast guarding a secret that I'm pretty sure the headmaster wants me to find."

"...So, did you make any friends?"

Rick emerged from the garage, carrying a dripping plastic bag. "Oh, hey Harry. Did you quit that fruity school already?"

"No, dad."

"Your loss," Rick walked over to the kitchen sink and pulled a severed tentacle from the bag, which he proceeded to feed down the garbage disposal. "So, you said something about a secret? What secret?"

"I dunno. The Headmaster just told everyone to avoid a certain door unless they wanted to become a three-headed dog's chew toy. He didn't even lock the fucking door."

"Sounds like a secret not wo*uuuuurth* investigating."

"Wait, I agree with you?" Beth asked, stunned.

"Yeah, dad, what?"

"It's obvious the headmaster is trying to manipulate you into risking your life on some heroic quest," Rick replied, turning away from the sink and wiping tentacle juice on his lab coat. "Don't let yourself be controlled, that just gets you killed, or worse, married."

"Dad, I'm married, and I think I'm in control," Beth replied.

"You're a slave to a p*aaaar*asite of a husband, Beth," Rick replied. "It's not exactly an even relationship."

"You know I can hear you, right?" asked Jerry.

"Of course I do, Jerry. You're literally standing right next to me."

"So… you're telling me I shouldn't investigate whatever Dumbledore wants me to investigate, because then I'd be doing what he wants me to do?"

"I'm not telling you to do anything, Harry," Rick replied, opening a cupboard and fishing out a box of Eyeholes. "Then I'd be the one manipulating you. You're a rational adult-"

"He's eleven," Beth said, frowning.

"A rational adult trapped in a fleshy, pre-pubescent chrysalis, whatever," Rick replied. "Point is, you control your own destiny, not Dumbledore, and not me."

"I thought you always said no one is control of their destinies, nothing happens for a reason, and everything is meaningless."

"That was before I found out my adopted son was some sort of miracle wizard Jesus. Do whatever the fuck you want, is what I'm trying to say."

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Ok, thanks, I think."

"No problem. Wanna watch some interdimensional cable?"

"Nah, I'm kinda busy plotting how to get back at my asshole professor."

Rick grinned. "Want some help?"

* * *

Snape leaned back in his chair and dunked his biscuit into his mug of tea. Things were going well. He was torturing James Potter's son, Dumbledore was making no moves to stop him, and the Hogsmeade Grocery had been having a sale on McVitties. As long as he kept Quirrell away from the damn Stone, this year was looking up.

He was interrupted from one of his rare smiles by a hammering on the door. "Go away," he called. After a few seconds, he heard footsteps receding into the distance. Pushing himself up, he walked over to the door and opened it warily.

A small package sat on the ground by his door. Hi picked it up, quickly scanning it for hidden curses. The scan came up clean. Curious, he tore off the wrapping and read the colorful letters on the front of the box.

"Eyeholes?"

Suddenly, there was a crash behind him. Something had repelled down his chimney and was running towards him. Before he could react, he felt a fist striking his sternum.

 ** _"Get away from those Eyeholes!"_** a voice shouted. As the fireplace soot cleared, Snape could make out a strange-looking creature in a superhero costume, shouting through a megaphone. **_"I'm the Eyehole man… those, those are my Eyeholes, not yours! Face my wrath… vill...villain!"_**

The thing karate chopped the potions master in the throat, sending him crashing to the ground gurgling. It grabbed the box and leaned down so that he was eye level with Snape. " _Next time I find you with these, I will fucking kill you_ ," it whispered, pulling out a knife and running it along the professor's cheek. With that, it grabbed the box from Snape's hand and vanished up the chimney.

Snape lay there for several minutes, wheezing from a bruised esophagus. "What… what just happened?"

* * *

"-And so, at the request of Professor Snape, Filch has added something called 'Eyeholes' to the list of contraband items in Hogwarts," Dumbledore rolled up the scroll and shrugged. "Sorry to disturb you all, please continue your breakfasts."

"Well, that was weird," Ron said, turning to his friends.

"Kind of a bummer," Morty said. "Those things are fucking delicious."

"Snape should've been more careful with his Eyeholes," Harry muttered, grinning over his plate of eggs. He glanced up at the staff table. Snape, mysteriously wearing a neck brace, glared daggers at him. Harry waved back.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione poked her head around the corner and sighed. "Harry, stop investigating the killer dog and come down to lunch."

Harry had turned the space around the door to the cerberus's lair into a makeshift lab. A table he'd stolen from the library groaned under the weight of test tubes and computer monitors, while several strange devices were aimed at the door, recording data.

"Science trumps lunch, Hermione," Harry replied, tapping an oscilloscope to make sure it was working. "Those wave patterns don't look good. I'd say Chopper's got a nasty case of worms."

"Harry, I think you may be a little too obsessed with the mystery."

"Nonsense," Harry said. A muffled sneeze shook the door behind him. "Oh, I need to add that to the activity log." He picked up a tape recorder. " _12:33: subject sneezed. Registered 3.1 on the Richter scale. Possible dust allergy; needs further research. Will collect snot for analysis._ Hermione, can you give me a hand?"

"Oh, sorry, Harry, I have charms to do," the girl replied, backing away slowly. "Maybe next time."

"Ok, I'll call you when I need to collect a stool sample."

"Please don't."

* * *

"Headmaster, we need to talk about Harry,"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter-Sanchez. How is he doing in your class, Severus?"

"The little bastard is quite good at potions," the Slytherin head of house replied grudgingly. "Although he keeps referring to it as 'chemistry', which I'm sure he does just to spite me."

"Ah, the youth of today. Such insouciance is quite refreshing."

"I must report that Potter and his nephew Smith have taken an unhealthy interest in the third-floor corridor, despite your warning at the start of term."

"Oh, dear, how unexpected," Dumbledore said, smiling.

"Mr. Filch has tried on several occasions to chase him away, but Sanchez ignores him, or at best replies 'Fuck the Police', whatever that means."

"Let the young man sate his curiosity," the Headmaster replied. "So long as no harm comes from it."

* * *

Harry took off for the grand staircase like a track star, sliding around the corner so hard he left skid marks. "Run for your lives!" he screamed, barreling through a group of confused third years. A moment later, a pissed-off looking cerberus slid around the corner, crashing into a suit of armor. The third years decided to follow Harry's advice.

Hermione, Ron and Morty were coming out of the great hall when Harry appeared, sliding down the banister and somersaulting into a heap before them. "Guys, I think I made a mistake."

A loud roar quickly clued them in. "Harry, what did you do?" Ron asked.

"I may have tried to take its temperature," Harry said.

"Orally?"

"Guess again."

There was a crash as the giant dog dropped three stories, cracking the floor beneath it as it landed. Upon locking eyes with Harry, it's three mouths bared their fangs.

"Don't make any sudden moves," Harry whispered, frozen in place. "It responds only to movement."

"Those are T-Rexes, Harry," Morty said.

"Fuck, run!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake. Hermione stepped forward and waved her wand. A large beach ball popped into existence two feet from the cerberus's nose. "Does doggy want the ball?" Hermione asked, waving her wand back and forth, the ball echoing her movements.

The cerberus dropped its heads to the floor. It's wagging tail caught a seventh-year Ravenclaw in the stomach and catapulted her through a stained glass window.

"Go get it!" Hermione shouted, tossing the ball through the open door. The cerberus enthusiastically took off after it, barking happily.

* * *

"I cannot believe you four," McGonagall stormed back in forth across her office floor. "Tangling with a fully-grown cerberus, endangering the lives of yourselves and everyone in the castle. You could have been killed!"

"But we weren't," Harry pointed out.

"You put twelve students in the infirmary."

"They'll live."

"The poor Ravenclaw is paralyzed."

"Well, that's your problem, as this school clearly does not follow ADA specifications."

The deputy headmistress waved her wand, and Harry suddenly found himself transfigured into a donkey. "I am deeply ashamed of you all."

"Are you going to expel us?" Hermione asked, shaking.

"That would be too fitting a punishment," McGonagall snarled. "Ten thousand points from Gryffindor, and you all have detention with Filch for a month."

The door to McGonagall's office swung open. "Ah, Minerva, I see you are administering punishment to Sanchez and friends," Dumbledore said, casting his eye over the Gryffindors. "I must say, Granger, your handling of a fully-grown cerberus was quite impressive. Eleven thousand points to Gryffindor."

"Albus!"

"Oh, right, sorry Minnie." Dumbledore put on a mocking frown. "Don't do it again. On a side note, Filch will be busy repairing the third-floor corridor, so I'm afraid you'll be spending your detentions in the kitchen, as chocolate cake taste testers. Ta!" Dumbledore waved before closing the door, narrowly missing a houseplant hurled by McGonagall, who had begun to foam at the mouth.

"I guess we'll take our leave, then," Morty said, grabbing Jackass-Harry by the reins. "C'mon, better get down to the kitchens. Those chocolate cakes aren't going to taste themselves!"

* * *

"So, Hagrid, have you caught the cerberus yet?"

Hagrid smiled. "Oh, aye. Fluffy's a gentle creature at heart. 'E's been taken to a farm up north."

Hermione and Harry shared a glance with one another. "A farm?"

"Aye, that's what the Ministry fellows told me when they came to take Fluffy away."

"Hagrid, I don't think they took him to a farm," Harry began. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. It was a rather difficult gesture for him to pull off, as McGonagall's spell had yet to wear off, and he was still a donkey. "Wait! _Fluffy_?"

"Aye, that's the name I gave 'im," Hagrid replied.

"So you put it in the castle?" Ron asked.

"Aye, Headmaster's orders."

"So you know what it was guarding!" Hermione said.

Hagrid's eyes widened. "Well, uh, no, no, I know nothing about that. I just collected it from Gringotts and got Fluffy to guard it, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"What about Gringotts?" Harry asked.

"Does it have something to do with the break-in they had the day before school began?" Ron asked.

"I can't speak for Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel," Hagrid replied. He clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Who's Nicholas Flamel?" Morty asked, but it was too late. Before anyone could stop him, Hagrid had grabbed a pot hanging over the fireplace and beat himself into unconsciousness.

* * *

"More questions than answers," Harry said, scratching his chin with his hoof as they left Hagrid's hut.

"You're right, Harry," Hermione said. "Something is being guarded at Hogwarts, but what? It belongs to Nicholas Flamel, but who is he, and why is he important? Someone tried to steal it from Gringotts, but who and why?"

"All excellent questions conveniently conveyed verbally for an audience's benefit," Harry replied.


	8. Chapter 8

**Happy New Year, everyone! Thought I'd ring in 2018 with another chapter. Thanks again for a year of support and praise. It really stroked my ego.**

* * *

Rick picked up on the fourth ring. "I swear to God, if I find you, I will hunt you down and gut you like a fish-"

 _"Grandpa Rick, it's Morty!"_

"Oh, h-hey Morty. Sorry about that. I was expecting someone else."

 _"Who were you expecting?"_

"My acc _*houn*_ tant. You want something? Hurry up, you're keeping the line open."

 _"Does the name Nicholas Flamel mean anything to you?"_

"...No."

 _"Oh, uh, ok. Bye."_

Rick sighed and set down the phone. "Who was that, Dad?" Beth asked, poking her head into the garage.

"Morty."

"Oh, ok. Have you seen Summer?"

"She's at a friend's house, I think," Rick replied. Beth nodded, satisfied, and left the room. Rick breathed another sigh of relief. The phone rang again. "Hello? Yeah, I got her finger… Look, as I said last night, I'm not going to p*haaa*ay up unless I receive the whole hand… Well, to be frank, Horgablorga, the girl doesn't need it, it's not like she's a *cough* pianist… Alright, I'll be watching for a UPS package, bye."

* * *

"Rick has no idea," Morty said, handing the cell phone over to Harry.

"Damn, I was sorta counting on him knowing," the Boy-Who-Lived shook his head. "Looks like it's the library for us." Hermione squealed and clapped her hands.

* * *

"What do you mean, nothing?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"I mean, we checked everything in the library. School records, censuses going back to the Dark Ages, A Wizard's Who's Who, the phone book, there's nothing."

Harry swore, receiving a sharp glare from Madam Pince. "So, two weeks of research and we've found nothing."

"Yep," Hermione shook her head. "It's almost like he's erased himself from history."

"Great. This day can't get any worse."

"Potter!" McGonagall appeared from behind a shelf. "Where have you been? The Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match is in ten minutes!"

"Damn."

* * *

 _"It's a beautiful October afternoon here at Hogwarts Castle as we are minutes away from the first Quidditch Match of the season. I'm Lee Jordan, and here with me providing color commentary is Ludo Bagman of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Now, Mr. Bagman, it seems that most viewers today are focusing on one thing and one thing only, the addition to the Gryffindor roster of Harry Sanchez, A.K.A Harry Potter. It seems that Potter has had no experience with the game before this year, how does that affect his chances?"_

 _"Well, Jordan, Harry will have to work hard to keep up with Slytherin Chaser Marcus Flint. As we all know, the Snitch is somewhat self-aware, and it does not suffer beginners."_

 _"Well, that's good to know. We're about ten seconds from the start of the match_... _There's the whistle! Flint takes off, Potter/Sanchez seems to have no idea what is happening and_ _ **HOLY SHIT!**_ _"_

 _"Alright, we'll have to censor that for the evening broadcast, but I can share Jordan's disbelief! It seems The Golden Snitch has flown straight into Potter/Sanchez's pocket, something no one has ever seen before."_

 _"As it stands, the score is 150-0, and Gryffindor wins! How do you evaluate Potter/Sanchez's performance in the match?"_

 _"Well, it was difficult to judge, as the match lasted all of two seconds-"_

 _"A Quidditch World Record."_

 _"-Yes, that's correct. Harry did quite well this match, really had control of the Snitch, made it come to him, rather than the other way around. That's a mark of true professionalism."_

 _"Or unbelievable luck."_

 _"Could someone have tampered with the snitch before the game, Ludo?"_

 _"Well, I bet twenty thousand galleons Gryfindor would win, I'm going to go with no."_

 _"Fair enough. We'll be back in five minutes to interview Potter/Sanchez on his historic victory."_

 _"Wait, he's fallen off his broom!"_

 _"Sabotage from the Slytherin team, Bagman?"_

 _"No, I just think Harry has no idea how to fly that thing."_

* * *

Harry sat, chin on the table, eyes twitching.

 _"Potter is our Kiiiing!_

 _Potter is our Kiiiing!_

 _He beat the snakes_

 _A lucky break!_

 _Potter is our King!"_

"Seventy-fifth verse, same as the first!" Fred/George Weasley shouted to the gathered Gryffindors.

 _"Potter is our Kiiiing…"_

"Why aren't you celebrating, Harry?" Ron asked, plopping down in a chair next to his friend. He was joined a second later by Hermione and Morty.

"Why should I? I did absolutely nothing."

"Well, falling off a broom counts as something," Morty said.

"Laugh it up, Morty. How can I be celebrating when the mystery of the third-floor corridor still eludes us?"

"Cheer up, Harry. Maybe a chocolate frog will help you feel better!" Ron suggested, passing a wrapped treat to Harry.

"Nah, you go ahead and eat it."

"If you insist," Ron cracked open the box and gobbled up the frog. He glanced down at the card. "Look! I got a Dumbledore card!"

"Ron, unless that card can tell me who Nicholas Flamel is, I do not give a shit."

"...Well, oddly enough, it does."

Harry perked up and grabbed the card.

"The Philosopher's Stone?" Harry read, looking confused. "What on Earth is that?"

"Sounds like some sort of…" Morty paused, thinking, "Magic McGuffin."

"Well, now we have a lead, our first!" Harry said. He turned to Hermione, "Get down to the library, and search any book on alchemy for reference to Flamel, or the philosopher's stone."

"Do you want it first thing in the morning?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, that means no sleep and no toilet breaks."

Hermione fist-pumped the air and took off through the portrait. "You want I should go with her, Harry?" Morty asked.

"No offense, Morty, but you'd be more a hindrance than a help to her."

"Offense taken," Morty replied, looking crestfallen. He slowly walked away, head hung low.

"That was kinda harsh, Harry," Ron said, opening another chocolate frog. "Ooo! Salazar Slytherin. Huh, says here he's rumored to have built a secret chamber under Hogwarts."

"Don't believe everything you read, Ron," Harry replied, standing up and striding through the sea of his admirers to the dormitory. "Those companies will say anything to sell their chocolates."

* * *

"Happy Halloween, Harry," Hermione said.

"Is it Halloween? I hadn't noticed," the Boy-Who-Lived replied, glancing around at the decorations festooning the Great Hall.

"You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"Are those real bats or fake ones flying around?" Harry asked, ducking as one swooped low overhead. "They'd better be fake, if I find one drop of bat shit in my food, I'm calling the health department."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sat down. "Lighten up, Harry. Where's your holiday spirit?"

"Dead, along with my parents, who, you know, died today," Harry replied.

"...Oh."

Harry laughed. "Relax, I'm just shitting with you. I don't even remember my parents, so why be miserable?"

Ron came up to the table, arms full of candy. "Any of you seen Morty? He's going to miss the party!"

"He's probably still sulking in the girl's bathroom after I told him he was useless," Harry replied.

"Don't you mean the boy's bathroom?" Hermione asked.

"No, he stumbled into the girl's bathroom by mistake. He's holding out partly due to his pride, and partly to avoid embarrassing himself."

"You should apologize to him, Harry," Ron said.

"Fuck that. My dad always taught me never to apologize. It shows weakness. You just keep claiming your right, then cover your ears and sing at the top of your lungs until the other person concedes defeat."

"...Anyone ever tell you your home life is fucked up?"

Before Harry could posit a witty retort, Quirrell came running into the Great Hall. "TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!" he shouted, before passing out. A second later, everyone started screaming.

"All students to their common rooms immediately!" Dumbledore shouted over the bedlam.

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up. "Whelp, looks like I can't catch a break."

"What do you mean, Harry?" Ron asked. "Also, why aren't we going towards the Gryffindor Common Room?"

"Think of Murphy's Law," Harry said. "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Example, there's a troll in the school dungeons. What's the worst thing it can do?"

"...Kill a student?" Hermione asked.

"Correct. Now, who's the one student in the school currently unaccounted for, besides us three?"

"Morty!" Hermione and Ron shouted in unison. They took off towards the girl's bathroom.

As he turned to follow, Harry caught sight of Professor Snape exiting the Great Hall. Ducking behind a statue of Pettigrew the Coward Hiding Behind a Column, he watched as the Potions Professor began to climb the stairs, heading for the Third Floor.

Harry glanced behind him, then back at Snape, then behind him again. "What a conundrum," he muttered.

* * *

"Where's Harry?"

Hermione stopped running and looked around. "Merlin! He's gone!"

They heard footsteps up ahead. Taking cover, they listened.

 _"Quick, before they notice we're gone!"_

 _"Relax, Forge, the map says they're all in the dungeons. Wait, someone's hiding behind the next corner."_

"Fred! George!" Ron shouted, jumping out in front of his brothers.

"Ronniekins! What are you doing here?" They asked in unison. Fred/George quickly hid something behind his back.

"We could ask you the same thing," Hermione said, crossing her arms.

"We were heading to Filch's office-" Fred began.

"-To get back some items-" George continued.

"-So rudely taken from us," they finished together.

A scream got their attention. "Morty!" Hermione shouted. She turned to the twins. "You need to help us!"

"Right you are-"

"-My lady."

"We are at your-"

"Enough of the goddamn twin bullshit!" Hermione snarled.

They rounded the corner and charged into the girl's bathroom, freezing at the sight before them.

"Oh, that's a big troll," Ron muttered.

The troll, not yet noticing the group behind it, had Morty cornered. The boy covered his head with his hands as his stall door exploded outwards, pulled to splinters by the creature attacking him.

 **"Hey, Snot-Face!"** the troll froze and turned towards the bathroom door. Fred and George stood there, flanked by Hermione and Ron, wands drawn. "Step away from the chronically-anxious firsty!"

The troll looked at them with a quizzical expression, then raised its club and roared. Five pairs of rectums tightened in unison.

"Or, you know, continue, don't mind us," Fred and George said together, grimacing uncomfortably.

* * *

 _"Albus!"_

Dumbledore glanced up from his book towards the fireplace, where McGonagall's face appeared, looking frantic. "What is it, Minerva?"

 _"Potter, Granger, Smith and the Three youngest Weasleys aren't in the Gryffindor common room!"_

Dumbledore frowned. "Are you sure?"

 _"Of course, I've searched the entire tower."_

"Well, it's possible they may have gone off to fight the troll."

 _"Who would be crazy enough to try such a thing?"_ McGonagall asked. Her face paled as realization dawned. _"Get all the professors, call off the dungeon search. If those five aren't dead, I'll kill them myself."_

* * *

Ron grimaced as he was slammed hard against a wall. "Maybe we should have thought this through more," he wheezed, clutching his bruised ribs.

"Can't you two use better spells?" Fred shouted, ducking a giant green fist.

"We're first years! The best we can do is the bat bogey hex!"

Morty watched from his shattered stall as his friends fought for him. Guilt welled up inside him. "I can't just sit here and do nothing!" he muttered. He pulled out his phone and autodialed.

 _"Nice try, buddy, Summer doesn't have six fingers. Send me the real hand or else I'll stop accepting your calls!"_

"Rick! I need your help!"

 _"Morty! Dammit, get off the fucking line!"_

"Scenario five, Rick! Scenario five!"

 _"Five, huh? Sounds pretty serious."_

"Dammit, Rick, enough of your bullshit! I'm about to fucking die here, so send me the goddamn power armor!"

 _"Ok, Morty, unwad your panties, one suit of power armor coming your way. Just don't go too overboard. Remember Purge night."_

"Fuck off, Rick! I don't need any moralizing from a fucking space criminal!"

 _"Geez, someone hasn't had their orange juice today."_

Morty hung up and pulled himself to his feet. A second later, something crashed through the ceiling and wrapped itself around the boy's torso, encasing Morty in three-inch-thick carbon-fiber padding.

"Hey, Assface!" Morty shouted. The troll stopped swinging his club at Hermione and glanced over. "Your bridge is about to cross over troubled waters," Morty said, smirking. A second later, he fired one of his wrist rockets.

Hermione cover shielded her face. A second later, she was struck by pounds of troll viscera. When the ringing in her ears stopped, she cracked open an eye, only to find a massive blood-filled crater in the center of the room where the troll had once been, and Morty, doing what appeared to be the moonwalk.

"Yeah, who's useless now, Harry! Not me, cause I just nuked a fucking troll!"

"What was that about troubled waters?" Hermione asked.

Morty paused. "You know, trolls live under bridges. It was a joke, you know, Bridge Over Troubled Waters? He picked the wrong bridge, is what I was saying."

"Pretty weak," Hermione said.

"Yeah, I gotta agree with her, that wasn't very good, Morty," Ron said, wiping a load of troll brain off the front of his robes.

At that moment, Harry came sliding into the room (literally, as his foot caught a pile of troll goo). "Have no fear! I've come to save the day!" he shouted. Unfortunately, he slid right across the room and into the far wall, knocking his head off the stone and collapsing, dazed, in a heap.


	9. Chapter 9

**In the words of the great Bard: "Omigod, we're back again." Here's something short and sweet to advance the plot.**

* * *

"The absolute stupidity! I don't know what the hell I expected from you lot, but fighting a fully-grown mountain troll? That takes the pumpkin pasty right there!"

Harry leaned back in his hospital cot and rolled his eyes. A small bandage was wrapped around his head where he'd struck the wall. His friends weren't unscathed, either. Ron's waist was wrapped in bandages, Hermione had a bloody nose, and Fred/George had broken legs (the same leg, which made it still impossible to tell them apart). Only Morty was unharmed, although his power armor had run out of juice, so he'd had to be dragged to the Infirmary by Hagrid. He lay on the bed next to Harry, staring up at the ceiling.

"Pure, unadulterated stupidity!" McGonagall wrapped up her rant and sighed. "However, you did manage to defeat a danger to the school, so there must be some credit given." The students glanced at one another, smiling. "There will be no points taken, but no points lost."

"Ah, students!" Dumbledore breezed into the Infirmary, eyes twinkling. "Fighting a full-grown mountain troll? Quite the achievement. Six hundred points to Gryffindor."

"Albus, I will end you!" McGonagall screeched, wheeling around in pursuit of the Headmaster.

"Well, that sure was a sticky situation," Harry said. "Good thing you guys are alright."

"Speaking of which, where the hell were you?" Morty asked, turning his head with the greatest difficulty.

"I was following Snape up to the Third Floor corridor."

"What?" Hermione spoke up, "Snape was going for the Stone?"

"Yeah. Fortunately, ol' Fluffy used him as a chew toy for a few minutes before the greasy shit gave up and hobbled away."

At that moment, a noticeably shaken and bloody Potions Professor staggered into the Infirmary, gripping several of his fingers in his one un-mauled hand. "Pomfrey!" he hollered, before falling over in a dead faint, scattering digits across the floor.

"See?"

* * *

"So, what have we learned about the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry asked.

"Don't you mean the Sorcerer's Stone?" Morty asked.

"...Fuck off. Hermione?"

"Well, we know that it was created by Nicholas Flamel, and that it's hidden in the school, and that Snape wants it."

"So we've learned nothing."

"Pretty much. If only we had access to the restricted section of the library."

"To get in there, we'd need, like, an Invisibility Cloak or something," Ron said. "By the way, Merry Christmas, everyone."

"Thanks, shall we open our presents?"

"Ok. Harry, how about you open that Cloak-shaped package first."

"Alright… huh, speak of the devil. An Invisibility Cloak."

"Convenient," Morty remarked.

"I know, right?"

"Almost _too_ convenient."

"Don't kill the mood, Morty. It's not like fortunate coincidences will be handed to us endlessly these next seven years."

An awkward silence fell over the group of friends. "Open my present, Harry," Ron said.

"Wow, a sweater. Neat."

"...You don't like it."

"I didn't say that. Don't put words in my mouth. Here, I'll put it on. Wow, it is _itchy_."

"It's made of badger wool."

"I didn't know badgers had wool."

"They don't. It's just badger hair my Mum glued onto a cotton jersey."

"God, you're poor."

"...Yeah."

* * *

"Stop pushing me, Ron."

"Not my fault, Hermione's elbow is in my face."

"On second thought, we shouldn't have all tried to fit under the Cloak," Morty remarked.

"Yeah, it's a bit cramped under here."

"Neville? What the hell are you doing here?" Harry asked.

"I've been with you guys all day. We opened presents together."

"I was wondering where the pathetic aura was coming from. Go back to the common room, Neville, and take your stupid toad with you."

"I don't have Trevor with me."

 _"Ribbit."_

"How long have you been here?"

* * *

"I had no idea books could scream so loud," Harry remarked, slamming the classroom door shut and pulling off the Cloak.

"We'll try again tomorrow," Hermione said. "It's too dangerous with Filch and Norris on the prowl."

"Where are we, anyway?" Harry glanced around the empty room. Empty, that is, save for a large, Baroque Rococo mirror in the center of the space. "Huh, interesting mirror."

"A little too ornate for my tastes," Ron said.

"If you could afford it, you'd probably think differently," Harry replied.

Ron walked over and looked at his reflection. He jumped back in surprise. "Woah!"

"What?"

"I'm Head Boy, and Quidditch Captain."

"...Have you gone mental?"

"No, look."

Harry walked over and glanced in the mirror. "All I see is a black-haired dude and a red-haired lady."

"Who are they?" Hermione asked.

"Damned if I know. Morty, what do you see?"

"I see myself standing over Rick's dismembered corpse."

"...What?"

"I mean, I'm the President of the United States."

"Boring."

"What kind of mirror can do this?" Hermione asked, glancing at her reflection. She was in bed surrounded by a handful of stable boys (and Ron, for some reason), but thought better than to mention it aloud.

"A magic one?" Morty suggested.

"It is the Mirror of Erised." The First-Years jumped as Dumbledore's voice spoke up behind them. "It shows the viewer his or her greatest desire."

"Oh, that explains the backward writing above the mirror," Ron said.

"So you solved the puzzle."

"...It wasn't that hard to solve. Where did you come from?"

"That is a trick I cannot divulge," the Headmaster replied.

"Were you hiding under that desk in the corner?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the item of furniture.

"...No."

"But why is this here?" Harry asked.

"It's been placed in my care for the time being."

"Like the Philosopher's Stone?"

" _Sorcerer's_ Stone."

"I swear to god, Morty."

Dumbledore tapped his nose. "I cannot say. I'm afraid that is something you young children should not worry yourselves with."

"Did you just wink at us?"

"...No. By the way, nice Invisibility Cloak, Potter-Sanchez. Five hundred points to Gryffindor for good fashion."

Several floors away, McGonagall sat up in her bed, inexplicably furious at the Headmaster.


End file.
